


The Trapper and The Runner

by ShockMeDoc



Series: The Trapper and The Runner [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Graphic Description, M/M, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Torture, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShockMeDoc/pseuds/ShockMeDoc
Summary: Stuck in an endless cycle of pain, torture, and sacrifice, the Trapper and the Runner realize that they have more in common than they originally thought.Even though he's a killer and she's a survivor... can they work past their differences and learn to find comfort in each other?
Relationships: Claudette Morel/Jake Park, Dwight Fairfield/David King, Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Meg Thomas
Series: The Trapper and The Runner [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130693
Comments: 17
Kudos: 44





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 is set during the “present” in DBD (Just after Élodie and The Twins joined), but the rest of the story is set further back in 2018, just after Tapp and the Pig joined.  
> I tried my hardest to be faithful to the video game without making it sound like the characters are…in a video game, but, obviously, to make the story work I invented a substantial amount of additional lore. This universe that I am building will be the basis of all future Dead by Daylight fanfiction that is posted by me.  
> Thank you for giving my story a chance, and please feel free contact me with advice, criticism, requests, or suggestions.

They sat, the twenty-four of them, sprawled in various places around the campfire, waiting. Each survivor had an offering or an item, or both, clenched tightly in their hands. The newer survivors huddled toward the back, whispering nervously amongst themselves, but besides that, mostly everyone else was quiet, glancing around at each other, waiting to see who would be picked for the first Trial of the night.

Not Meg. She leaned, bored, against the largest log, beat-up flashlight in one hand, small chalk pouch in the other. She unscrewed the end of the flashlight, double checking that the battery she’d put in earlier was still there, before resting her head on her knees with a sigh. 

She was one of the most experienced survivors in the Realm, having been there longer than she could remember at this point. These Trials were second nature to her now, and she could hardly bring herself to feel anything about them anymore. She glanced up briefly to check on her closest friends—Claudette, who was crouching near the fire, ready to provide support to anyone who needed it going in. Dwight, who was standing near the edge of the crowd, whispering to David. Jake, who was leaning against a tree a few feet away from the fire, looking just as bored as she was.

She remembered when it was just the four of them. They did all their trials together, one after another, night after night. They’d sleep by the fire during the day, and sneak into the forest in the early evenings to gather materials, sitting together and struggling to craft them into offerings that the Entity would accept. They’d teach each other what they knew—Meg, of course, shared everything she’d learned about running fast, vaulting quietly, and keeping your stamina up. 

Most of all, they were there for each other, there to pull each other off those disgusting, awful hooks, to comfort each other after a long night of Trials, to provide emotional support when the pain and despair just became too much.

Then, the others started joining. Meg had to admit it was nice to have more free time—she wasn’t always in each trial, although the Entity did seem to select her fairly often— _it likes to see the Killer break a sweat,_ she thought to herself with a smirk. There was more to do, more people to keep watch during those risky offering-gathering missions, and, of course, more to learn.

As time passed, she noticed the other survivors began to look to her as a sort of leader. Her experience, talent, and strong personality combined made her the perfect survivor to look up to. Her fellow survivors came to her for advice, for comfort, seemingly viewing her as a pillar of strength through it all. 

Meg had learned to adopt a brave persona, pushing her own feelings to the back of her mind, always exuding a presence of positivity, confidence, and encouragement. She feared that if she began to crack, or show weakness or despair, the others would follow. Everyone needed to be at their best if they were to have any hope at surviving the Trials—she was terrified of what might happen to them if they gave up.

It did get exhausting, putting on a brave face all the time, and, more and more often, Meg found herself slipping away into the forest for some solitude, to let off some steam, to cope with her real emotions before marching back to the campfire, head held high, ready for the next Trial.

Meg’s thoughts were interrupted by an all-too-familiar lurch in her stomach. She quickly jumped up. “It’s me!” she called, coming forward to chuck her pouch into the fire.

“And me!” David pushed through the crowd, also carrying a flashlight, although, as Meg noticed enviously, it was much shiner and newer than Meg’s. 

_Maybe I can grab a new one in the trial tonight,_ Meg thought to herself, watching David toss a rotting branch into the fire. “Who else?” he roared, turning around. David liked to know who he was going in with as soon as possible. Meg found it hard to care anymore.

Feng Min, carrying a fancy toolbox, stepped forward, along with Felix, one of the newest survivors. “We got our team!” crowed David, to applause, laughter, and sighs of relief. 

Claudette came over to give Meg a quick hug. “Good luck,” she whispered. 

“Shit, almost forgot to burn my offering,” said Felix, digging through his pocket.

“Well, hurry up,” Meg told him. “We probably only have a few seconds left.” 

He quickly pulled out a small bone, getting ready to toss it into the fire. Meg stared. “Where did you get that…?”

Felix shrugged. “Found it in the forest. Don’t have anything better to burn. Besides, I know the MacMillan estate pretty well, so if I have to do a Trial tonight, I’d prefer to go—” 

He was cut off as the thick fog wrapped around the four, slowly lifting them to the sky. Meg’s stomach churned, the image of the bone, of all it stood for, burned into her brain. She was feeling dizzy, she knew she would soon lose consciousness to be safely and quickly transported to the location of the Trial. She allowed her mind to wander, back to a time that was… well, she wasn’t sure, but it had to have been a while ago. Back when she was all alone, back when life was simpler, back when _he_ was just another Killer to outrun…


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time ago...

“Earth to Meg!”

“Huh?” Meg glanced up, noticing Claudette was sitting next to her on the log, staring impatiently.

“The last Trial is about to start. Look, they just got back.” 

Meg glanced up as Nea, Bill, David, and Feng finished materializing by the campfire. By their whoops and embraces, she could tell it had been a good one. She wasn’t surprised, the four made a strong team, with David and Bill keeping the killer busy, and Feng and Nea staying out of sight and on gens.

“Who was it?” she called out to them, curious. 

“Nurse,” Feng called over in her squeaky voice. “Should’ve seen her teleport right into a wall.” Bill, David, and Feng started laughing again as Nea stalked off to hoist herself up into a tree.

Suddenly, Meg’s stomach gave a lurch. 

“Fuck.”

“You too?” asked Claudette next to her. 

“Yeah. Thought I might get a night off for once.” 

“You’re dreaming,” snickered Claudette, as the two of the advanced toward the fire. 

“Looks like I’m going in tonight!” called Ace with a wink, tossing a shiny coin into the fire.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Are you going to help us out, or just spend the whole trial looting chests again?” 

“I need something good to take back after we win!” 

“Not likely, with you on the team.” 

The three of them laughed as the flames engulfed Ace's offering.

“Wait, who’s our fourth?” Claudette asked, looking around. 

“I am,” croaked Tapp in his hoarse voice, hobbling forward. “Sorry, I don’t have anything to burn. Or to take in with me.”

Tapp was a brand-new survivor, having appeared by the fire for the first time just a few days ago. He was still learning the rules, and still obviously missing home, but he was pretty good in the Trials. His knack for locating objectives in the confusing forest was uncanny, and Meg had never seen anyone crawl as fast as he did when he was downed.

“It’s alright,” said Meg. “Just follow Ace and you can grab whatever he doesn’t take for himself. Try and get a medkit if you can. Ace, don’t be greedy with the chests, okay?”

Before either of them could answer her, the fog completely surrounded Meg. She could feel her eyes falling shut, her consciousness quickly fading away...

…

The sound of crows cawing startled Meg awake, and she sat up quickly, rolling over to grab her pathetic med kit. There was barely enough inside to patch one wound, but it was better than nothing. She sprinted to the middle of the forest, looking to start on one of the more difficult generators while everyone was still alive. 

She knelt down and stuck her hands inside, her fingers quickly locating the first switch that needed to be flipped. She was pretty sure she could repair a generator with her eyes closed at this point.

She tensed up as a heavy heartbeat began pounding in her ears, and the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer and closer. She quickly fled the generator, hoping the killer would notice her so she could run him around for a bit.

He stepped into view; she vaulted the nearest window instinctually. There was a snap and a jolt of pain. She screamed, noticing the bear trap she has stepped in. 

“Fuck!” she hissed, prying desperately at the jaws. _Of course it has to be him._

Meg was many things: loyal, stubborn, ambitious, determined. _Careful,_ however, was not one of those things. Which was why she _hated_ going against the Trapper. 

She could sprint long distances without getting tired. She could vault windows and hop in lockers like no one’s business. Hell, when the exit gates were powered up, she was usually the first one there, yanking down that heavy lever, ready to lead her teammates to victory. 

But going against the Trapper required caution. Patience. You couldn’t just run wherever, unless you wanted to be stopped in your tracks with one of his awful bear traps. Meg _hated_ him. 

She screamed again as he slowly vaulted the window after her and struck her with his cleaver. It tore through her top, slashing the soft flesh on her stomach. She slumped over, warm blood trickling from the gash in her stomach, her ankle swelling up and throbbing. 

The monster quickly bent down and picked her up with ease, slinging her over his shoulder. She wiggled, grunting as she pounded his back with her fists. Unfortunately, the Trapper, in addition to being strong, was _fast_ —Meg had never seen another killer move with such ease at the same time as carrying a struggling survivor.

This meant he could take her where he wanted—and his usual strategy was to take his prey to the basement, where everyone knew that chances of rescue were slim.

Sure enough, soon they were descending the steps as the familiar darkness and the smell of old blood enveloped the two. 

Meg tensed, bracing herself for the pain, but it still caught her by surprise as he hung her on the closest hook to the door, the hook puncturing her chest, blood spraying from the wound and onto the Trapper’s clean white mask.

He raised his cleaver, striking her stomach again, as Meg screamed even louder.

Killers rarely caught Meg, and she was sure the Trapper was relishing in such an easy capture, which made the loss feel even worse.

His footsteps faded away as the sound of a generator powering to life rang out in the distance. Meg whimpered, trying to ignore the pain, hoping someone would be down soon to help her out. 

Unfortunately, only the Trapper came back, pulling traps out of his large sack, setting them up on the stairs, at the landing, and even one by her feet for good measure. 

She groaned in both pain and frustration, knowing now that it would be next to impossible for anyone to come and save her. 

After setting the last trap, seemingly satisfied, he turned to leave. He was just about to walk up the stairs when he stopped, turning around and staring at her.

 _Is he going to stay here?_ she wondered. She’d had Killers employ this tactic before, usually to ensure at least one Survivor died… but the basement was positively covered in traps. There was no way she was getting out. 

She stared back, into his dark, soulless eyes, at the sharp teeth and wide, jagged smile of that stupid mask he always wore. 

It seemed to be mocking her. 

At first, she had planned on just killing herself quickly on the hook. It was excruciating, but the pain would be over fast. Now… _if he’s going to stay here, at least he’s distracted. Maybe I can buy some time for the others… it’s the least I can do after being caught so fast…_

And so, she stuck it out. Defiantly. It was only two minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Especially when the Entity’s black tentacles materialized, pushing toward her chest. Every move when she fought back was agony. 

The Trapper had moved even closer. He seemed to be studying her face. She wanted to glare back, maybe reach out and kick him, but she was in too much pain to do anything.

Finally, as the Entity’s claws reared back, ready to deliver the final painful blow, she heard one generator pop in the distance, and then another. _Good,_ she thought. _They can get two more done without me. I’m glad they’ll be okay._

Meg relaxed, just as one sharp, thick tentacle pierced her chest. Suddenly, the Trapper raised his cleaver and struck her again, eliciting another scream. She hadn’t been in such agony in a long time. 

He wiped the blood on his overalls quickly and prepared for another blow as Meg felt her body beginning to lift into the air.

He brought his cleaver down into Meg’s stomach.

Meg blacked out.

…

Meg woke up by the fire, like she always did. Sometimes she wished she could just go to sleep after the Entity lifted her off the hook… never to wake up…

Her body was healed, but the pain remained. Meg couldn’t help but scream again as she came to, jolting up into a sitting position. She hauled herself to a tree by the edge of the campfire, weakly, burying her head in her arms, gritting her teeth, trying ignore the burning sensation in her back, in her ankle, in her chest, in her stomach, most of all, where the Trapper had struck her four times… 

She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up. It was Bill, the old hardened soldier who always had a cigarette in his mouth. He had been here for, according to Claudette, a little over a year. “You okay?” he asked, concerned. Bill and Meg got along very well. He was tough, he had seen a lot even before he appeared in the Entity’s Realm. He was also one of the few people she didn’t have to put on a brave face for. His age and knowledge allowed him to see through her façade almost immediately. 

She saw him as the father she’d never had. He said that she reminded her of a good friend he used to fight alongside, who he had left in the mortal world. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, wiping her mouth, embarrassed to be seen like this. “Rough trial.” 

“It’s okay, kid. Shit happens.” He settled down next to her, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. “Smoke?” He asked, offering her the pack. 

Normally, Meg would say no, she didn’t want to risk affecting her health, hindering her ability to run. Tonight, she took one gratefully with shaky hands. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Bill produced a lighter and handed it to her. He wasn’t much of a talker; which Meg was grateful for. She lit the cigarette and passed the lighter back, taking a long drag and closing her eyes, remembering the Trial as her pain began to subside. 

_What the fuck was that?_

She hated going against the Trapper, yes, but he never acted like _that._ While she knew that killers like the Nightmare, the Doctor, and the Shape relished in the survivors’ pain, the Trapper was never like that. He was deliberate, strategic, and only caused the pain that was necessary. He had never hit her while she was on the hook before, which was one of the most horrible things a killer could do to a survivor—knowing that the survivor was in unimaginable pain dangling on a hook, and deciding that _it just wasn’t enough._

And, why had he stayed in the first place? That was such an uncharacteristic thing for him to do—and she knew him well, too, as he, along with the Wraith and the Hillbilly, were originally the only three killers in the realm. Every night, the four original survivors would go against them. Learning their styles, their strategies. At this point, she felt like she and the Trapper... knew each other, even though they had never spoken. It almost felt like a betrayal on his part. 

She shook her head. _Maybe the Trapper is on drugs. Maybe he’s not feeling good. Maybe the Doctor shocked him before the Trial. Yes, I’ll bet that’s it. I’ve known the Trapper for too long, he would never do something like—_

She stopped. _Why does it even matter? You don’t know the Trapper. He’s been here as long as you, yes, but that’s the only thing we have in common. He takes pleasure off of hurting us, you know he does. He probably just wanted to step it up a notch or something. And, it doesn’t matter. He can do that, cause he’s the killer. Next time, I’ll be ready. I know that there’s this trick where if you concentrate enough during the Trial, you can sense where his traps are… maybe I’ll start meditating again and pick that up. Or maybe I’ll see if anyone has a map for trade, so I can bring it to the trial next time and it’ll show me his—_

“Your friend’s back.” Bill’s gruff voice interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced up to see Claudette’s body materializing next to the fire. She winced, clutching at her chest, making her way over to the two. She raised her eyebrows, noticing Meg’s cigarette. 

“Didn’t make it?” asked Meg before Claudette had the change to ask anything. 

Claudette shrugged. “All three of us were injured and going for the exit gate. One of us had to distract him.” 

“I’m sorry.” Meg hung her head. “It should have been me. That’s my job.” 

“What happened in there anyway? You were hooked, like, thirty seconds in. And then you died. I saw Ace heading your way, I thought for sure he was going to get you. Otherwise I would have come sooner.”

Meg shrugged. “Wasn’t looking where I was going. Hit a trap.” 

“And?” 

“He hooked me in the basement and fucking stayed there. Like, the whole two minutes. Even though he had traps all over the place. And then he hit me three times while I was on the hook! Like that isn’t painful enough!” 

Claudette winced. “I wonder why he would do that? That’s not his style.” 

“I don’t care what his style is. He’s the killer and he can do whatever the fuck he wants. He probably just wanted to make me suffer because I’m so hard to catch or something. Man, I thought he was one of the nicer killers too. It doesn’t matter, I hate him and he hates me! That much is obvious after tonight!” 

She glanced up, realizing how loud she had gotten—the other survivors were starting to stare. _Not good._

“I’m going to take a walk real quick,” she mumbled, embarrassed. 

She stood up, putting the cigarette out before turning away into the forest. 

She jogged, rather than run, as her ankle was still smarting from that trap, even though it had been completely healed after her sacrifice. The pain always lingered. She willed herself not to think of the killer, slamming her on the hook, striking her at her lowest moment, staying in the basement just to make sure she died. 

Her stomach lurched, eyes filling with tears. 

_What’s wrong with you?_ she berated herself. 

She’d had bad matches before, matches much more painful than this one—she’d been eaten alive by the Hag, shocked over and over again by the Doctor, had her face ripped open by the Pig’s awful reverse bear traps-- and she’d bounced back. She’d never let an agonizing match get her down this much. 

But for some reason, this one was… different. 

She began to run, ignoring the searing pain in her ankle. She ran and ran, trying to take her mind off of the match, of the Trapper’s leering grin. 

Finally, she collapsed under a tree, exhausted, unable to run any further. 

Fitfully, she slept. 


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already finished this story, it just needs to be edited, so I plan on getting the entire thing posted fairly quickly.
> 
> Ahh, Trapper and Meg warm my cold little heart...

Evan MacMillan was getting ready for a Trial. He grabbed one of his nicest stitched bags, made for him out of survivor’s skin by his friends Bubba and Sally—Bubba had gathered the materials, and Sally had meticulously stitched them together. She was in the process of teaching Evan how to make his own bags—he was learning, slowly, but his fragile creations could only hold one trap, while Sally’s best pieces could hold up to four.

He’d decided to leave the material gathering to Bubba, though. He liked trading the skin he collected to various killers who needed them in exchange for survivor pudding—his favorite offering.

He quickly grabbed his fastening tools, stuck them inside the sack, and slung it over his shoulder. Glancing at the assortment of weapons on the table, he decided to go with his trusty cleaver, still caked with dried blood from his last Trial. He adjusted his mask and grabbed a crudely made wreath off of his desk, then started for the bonfire.

Although most Killers preferred to spend their free time in their own realms, they did have a communal bonfire where Killers could gather, burn offerings, and, of course, be transported to the location of each trial.

Bubba was sitting by himself near the fire when Evan got there, munching on a bowl of survivor pudding.

“You know that’s for burning, not eating,” Evan said gruffly.

Bubba shrugged, holding out the spoon.

“I’m good,” Evan mumbled, tossing the wreath into the fire. “Thanks for the bag, by the way. It’ll be useful.”

He nodded his head a bit, squeaking in that strange way he always did.

“I’ll bring you some more survivor pudding soon,” Evan offered. “I need some more skin to practice my sewing.” Bubba seemed happy with that offer, clapping his hands excitedly.

Evan took a seat on a log across from Bubba. “Do you know who went in before me?”

Bubba squealed, gesturing to his chainsaw.

“Max?”

Bubba nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as the fire crackled and Bubba finished his snack. Evan rubbed his mask, sighing.

He was getting tired of these Trials. Bringing pain to these survivors, over and over again, brought him no pleasure anymore.

Not that it had in the beginning either, but he did find it interesting, and was able to let a primal sort of rage consume him while he was hunting, overpowering all feelings of regret.

Now…he couldn’t say he felt _regret,_ exactly. But…he was tired. He didn’t want to spend all of eternity like this. He yearned for something new… or, if not something new, maybe just an end to this. _I’d be okay going to sleep and just never waking up,_ he thought to himself.

Perhaps that would atone for the evils he had committed.

_Stop it, Evan,_ he scolded himself harshly. _This is why you’re here… because of those evils. That’s why the Entity chose you._

He wondered if the small selection of survivors—twelve or thirteen, at this point, he guessed, had committed some ungodly evil as well to end up here.

A cloud of smoke and fog began materializing next to the bonfire and Evan could see Max’s body begin to come into focus.

As soon as the smoke cleared, Max was on his feet. He waved to Evan and Bubba, dumped his chainsaw on the ground, and plopped down on the log next to Evan.

“How’d it go?” Evan asked.

“It was alright,” Max drawled in his thick southern accent. “Got two of ‘em. Would’ve gotten a third, but she stabbed me and ran.”

Evan was about to ask if he was referring to the blonde—he’d been stabbed many times by her before as well, when he felt the fog start to surround him.

“My turn,” he grunted.

“Good luck in there,” Max said.

Bubba gave a squeak and a nod as well.

He shut his eyes as his mind became fuzzy, hoping for some easy sacrifices so the Entity would reward him.

…

He woke up, on his feet as usual, back in his own realm.

_Good. Familiar hunting grounds._

He headed quickly to the Storehouse, setting a couple traps by the windows, aided by his trusty setting tools, before hearing the all-too-familiar sound of a generator starting up. He slipped out one of the un-trapped windows and made his way around to the generator. He hadn’t even seen who was working on it, just a flash of red—and then there was a snap and a scream.

Pleased, he headed to the window, vaulting over it to collect his prey. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who it was.

The little red-headed survivor, with her hair in those two braids, glanced up at him, a scowl on her face, icy blue eyes staring into his.

This Survivor was one of the hardest to catch—the way she ran, so fast, so light on her feet. Too many times, she had managed to distract him for long enough for the rest of the team to complete all five generators, and he had been punished by the Entity enough for it.

Simply seeing her in a Trial angered him, as he knew it would mean a long Trial of chasing her down, coming so close to getting her, only for her to surprise him with one final burst of speed, or a clever vault, or to slip into a locker without him knowing, leaving him exhausted and frustrated.

If she wasn’t his prey, he would honestly be impressed with her stamina, physical abilities, and determination.

But since she was… she was definitely, by far, his least favorite survivor, and he was always pleased when he was able to catch her, sling her over his shoulder, and toss her on a hook.

Even after he did, she always has a final glare for him, or an outstretched middle finger, or if he didn’t move away from the hook on time, sometimes she was able to kick him as well.

He’d stayed awake many nights, thinking of her piercing blue eyes, her long red braids that flew behind her whenever she was running away from him, and the rare, but satisfying feeling of being able to catch up to her and strike her down…

Now, here she was, not thirty seconds in, completely at his mercy.

He quickly struck her down with his cleaver and yanked her out of the trap, hoisting her over his shoulder, barely feeling her tiny fists pounding into his back.

For such an athletic survivor, she was surprisingly light and slender.

Quickly they descended into the basement, and he stuck her on the closest hook to the door. Then he hit her again, for good measure. _I love hearing her scream._

He quickly scouted the area for traps, stuffing them in his sack and returning to the basement where the girl was captive. He began setting up his traps, ensuring that she wouldn’t be leaving—no one would dare come and try to save her now.

His exhaustion, his earlier thoughts at the bonfire, his exasperation of the Trials—all of them had melted away as he focused all of his energy and rage at this evasive girl, who, even now, he could see was scowling at him, the most furious expression on her face.

She was the only survivor who could make him feel something like this, he realized.

_I must really hate her… or something._

A generator came to life in the distance, and he turned around, about to go after whoever was on it—but something made him stop and turn around, take her in. After all, how often would he have this fiery little runner down here, completely at his mercy?

He examined her carefully. Her face was streaked with blood, dirt, and tears, yet she still glared at him defiantly. He felt almost vulnerable, as if she were staring through his mask and at his face.

Stepping back a little, he marveled at the purple cap she wore on her head, with the front part sticking out over her face—he’d never seen anyone dress like that back home, in the mortal world.

Her top and pants, a dark pink color, now soaked with blood, clung tightly to her slim frame, much too indecent for a lady to be wearing out in public. They accentuated her slender hips… and her breasts—he could imagine _exactly_ what she might look like underneath and— _what does it matter? You’re here to kill her!_ Rage consumed him, angry that this Survivor was helpless, hanging on a hook, and still managing to have such power over him.

The Entity had fully materialized above her now, and was pushing inwards, hungry, feeding off of her pain, of her fear.

Often times in this situation, Evan knew the Survivor would let go, to end the pain quicker. But this one… she held on defiantly, crying out in pain with every move she made.

He moved closer, almost close enough to touch her. Her eyes were glazed over and she no longer had that defiant look on her face—but she was still fighting. _I like that about her,_ he thought, before catching himself. _No, she makes me angry. I want her to suffer!_

Which is why, when her strength gave out and the Entity’s tentacle finally pierced her chest, he hit her with his cleaver again.

_That’s for distracting me from the other survivors!_

She screamed, and he felt her blood splatter onto his mask, a little bit dripping over the eyeholes. He swiped at his eyes quickly, wiped his cleaver on his overalls, and struck her once more.

_That’s for wearing that tight little outfit! I’ll bet she did that on purpose!_

Her head dropped forward and her body went limp, finally silenced as the Entity collected its first sacrifice.

He retreated, collecting the traps he had set so meticulously. For some reason, he didn’t feel satisfied at what he had done. He felt hollow, empty. He told himself it was because she had distracted him for so long, and started up the stairs to try and do some damage control.

…

In the end, he only managed to sacrifice one other Survivor, and that was because she didn’t have the speed or the skill to evade him like the runner did. He emotionlessly hooked her and turned away, hoping he had done enough for the Entity.

As it turned out, it was satisfied, not pleased, but satisfied, with his performance, and let him be.

After returning to the bonfire, he stayed briefly to chat with Lisa about proper trap placement before making his way through the forest, back to his realm. He took his time, collecting feathers on the way to make some new offerings.

As he wandered amongst the trees, he stopped. Under a tree, passed out on the ground at the very edge of his realm, was the runner. _How had she gotten here?_ He knew survivors _could_ enter the Killer’s realms before and after the hours of the Trials, but they rarely did, mostly because they were so far away, and also, if they were killed outside of a Trial, the Entity would punish them severely. So what was she doing?

He approached cautiously, staring down at her. All evidence of the wounds she’d sustained during the Trial were gone. It crossed his mind to kill her immediately, or maybe to set a trap nearby and wake her up. But why? The Entity wouldn’t reward him as it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. The only thing he’d succeed in doing was making her mad, and then she’d give him a hard time during the next Trial… _but, isn’t she already mad?_ He wondered what she thought of him staying in the basement with her during the sacrifice.

He had gone against the redhead for a long time now, ever since he had first been transported to this realm. This was the first time he had ever done something like that. Having her here, in his territory, was new too.

He watched her, unsure. All of the physical damage she had taken from the Trial had healed, and she was looking good as new, save for the dirtied, bloody clothes and tousled braids. Mentally… he wasn’t sure. Did the Trials take the same toll on the Survivors as it did him?

He’d never had the chance to maybe get to know them, learn about who they were… obviously, they weren’t lining up to visit the killers after hours.

_If I could ask this survivor one question, what would it be?_

He took a deep breath, his mind made up. Carefully, so not to wake her, he scooped her up and started toward his shack. She weighed almost nothing in his arms.

Although in the Trials, the shacks were always uniform and empty, Evan had furnished his over the years with a large cot, a table crudely fashioned from wood, and a couple chairs, all made from a large tree he had cut down in the forest. He also had a chest in the corner, which he filled with the offerings he came across and a few odds and ends to help him in his trials.

He laid her on the cot, which was just barely large enough to fit him, but massive for her. He then took care laying traps around the shack so that she couldn’t escape once she woke up. His plan, now that he had a survivor captured outside of a Trial, was to talk to her, interrogate her, see what she was like. Then he would kill her and she would materialize by the campfire, fresh and ready for her next Trial. Sure, the Entity would punish her, but who cares? She’s just a survivor. He just wanted to satisfy his curiosity. Why not take the chance? What’s the worst that could happen?

His traps ready, he grabbed his cleaver and gently prodded the girl with his weapon.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever been fucked and then killed right after?  
> Probably not, since you're alive and reading this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. When editing this chapter before posting, it ended up a lot more sexual than I'd originally intended. So, I'm changing the rating to Explicit. I've never written anything this sexually graphic, so hopefully it feels at least somewhat natural. I did enjoy exploring the dynamic between Meg and Evan though.  
> 2\. To anyone named Herman who may be offended by the Doctor bit-- I have nothing against the name Herman! In fact (if you can't tell), Doc is my favorite killer. Herman just definitely isn't the menacing name I'd imagined for him when I first saw in him the game, and Meg happens to agree with me.  
> 3\. I hope everyone who is reading this is enjoying the story so far. Despite the shield of anonymity this site grants me, it's honestly pretty nerve-wracking putting my work out here like this, especially something so sexual. As always, please feel free to comment or message with suggestions, criticism, or insults.

Meg awoke to a gentle poking sensation in her side. She opened her eyes, rubbing her face. She was so comfortable in bed, she wanted to sleep just five more minutes…

_In bed?_

She sat bolt upright, panicked, looking around. She was on a large cot, back in the killer shack… what was going on?

_Run now, ask questions later._

She launched herself out of bed, bolting for the door, when she was stopped in her tracks with a loud snap and a sickening jolt of pain in her ankle.

 _I’ve got to be dreaming. This can’t be real._ She grabbed the jaws, desperately trying to free herself, when two enormous hands reached down and pried it apart for her. She glanced upwards at the pristine white mask of the Trapper.

“What the fuck…”

He picked her up roughly, tossing her back onto the cot before bending over and quickly resetting the trap. She glanced down at her ankle and winced. Already, it was swelling up, bending the wrong way, and the bone was poking out of the skin, blood pooling on the floor underneath, staining the wood a dark red. It was clearly broken. There was no running now, she only hoped that it would be quick…

He pulled out a chair and sat. “Are you going to run again?”

His voice, low and gravelly, shocked Meg. “You can talk?” was the only think she could think to ask.

“Of course, I can talk.”

“Oh... I’ve got to be dreaming…”

“You’re not dreaming.”

“Sure I am.” She pinched herself a couple times, trying desperately to wake herself up. The Trapper got up, walked to her, and slapped her across the face. The impact made her fall backwards onto the cot.

“Does that feel like a dream to you?”

“Fuck you!” Meg hopped of the bed, broken ankle be damned, and tried to hobble toward the window, gritting her teeth to quell her cries of pain.

“I wouldn’t do that. The whole place is trapped.”

Meg let out a scream of frustration and pain, turning to face the Trapper for the first time, wobbling unsteadily on one leg. “What do you want?”

He shrugged. “To talk.”

_“What?”_

“I found you sleeping under a tree in _my_ realm. I thought I’d bring you here for a bit. Figure out… I don’t know. Just ask some questions.”

“And to do that, you trapped me in here and fucked up my ankle?”

“You…injured… your own ankle. You weren’t supposed to run.”

Meg punched the cot in annoyance. “But I’m a runner! That’s what I do!”

“Look, we can make this easy or hard. Up to you. If you cooperate, I’ll kill you nice and fast after we’re done. If you make it hard… I’ll take my time.”

Meg was shaking with rage. “Fine!” She sat back down on the cot. “What?”

Evan couldn’t believe he’d gotten her to sit down and listen.

_Take away her ability to run, and threaten her with a bit of torture, and she’s surprisingly cooperative._

He had a million questions he wanted to ask, but he decided to start simple. “What’s your name?”

“Meg. Meg Thomas.” The girl—Meg—glared at him. “And you?”

“This isn’t about me,” growled Evan. Meg rolled her eyes.

 _Meg,_ he thought. _That’s a nice name._

The next question slipped out before he could think it through. “Uh… what’s with the outfit you’re wearing?”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean? Just a tank and leggings. I need to wear clothes that are good for running, you know?”

“It’s indecent for a lady to expose herself like that.”

“ _Expose_ myself?”

 _Who does this asshole think he is?_ She thought to herself, furious. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I wear what I like!”

“It’s just… where I came from… ladies… they wore skirts, long ones, that covered them properly…never pants…and, also, they never said cuss words…” Evan wanted to kick himself for stuttering. _Why does it matter that you offended her?_

“And where are you from, if I may ask.” She phrased it more as a demand than a question. Evan answered before he could stop himself.

“Washington.”

Meg narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit. I’ve been to Washington. There are tons of _ladies_ who dress like me. And talk like me. Or worse. Jesus. What fucking century are you even from?”

“Uh, the twentieth. Obviously,” Evan answered, trying to ignore her language.

“Obviously? Excuse me for not knowing—"

Evan stared at her curiously. “…aren't you?”

“I’m from the present—” Meg caught herself. “Uh. I mean. I'm from the twenty-first century. Just barely.”

“So… it’s been over a hundred years since I arrived here? That can’t be right.”

“Or more.” Meg shrugged. “Who knows when it is now, really. For all we know, time doesn’t exist here. Maybe everyone back at home who we love is dead.”

“There was no one I loved back home,” Evan mumbled.

“Oh. Um…I’m sorry,” Meg replied awkwardly.

“Don’t be.”

“It probably would be better if everyone I loved were dead,” Meg whispered. “No one to worry about me. My mom isn’t suffering anymore.”

“How did you get here in the first place?” Evan asked. “Did you kill someone? Or do something deserving of a punishment?”

Meg shrugged. “Not that I can think of. Last thing I remember was going for a run in the woods. Then I passed out and woke up by the fire. I’ve been here ever since.”

“So…why are you here?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Meg sighed, sounding exasperated. “Why? Did you do something horrible? Is that why you’re here?”

Evan winced, thinking back to the hundreds of people he’d killed in the mines at his father’s insistence. He remembered falling to his knees after it was all done, breaking down as he realized what he’d just done, a moment of _weakness_ overcoming him before he stormed off to set a bear trap in the basement…

Snapping back to attention angrily, he realized the survivor…Meg…was making him think back to memories he didn’t want to remember, memories that made him upset, almost regretful to think about. And that made him _weak._

Angrily, he grabbed his cleaver, slamming it into the wall next to Meg. “I’m the one asking the questions!” he snapped.

Meg flinched.

Evan’s stomach tightened at the look of fear in her eyes.

“Alright. You don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine,” Meg finally said. “What else do you want to ask me? Or are you done?” She spread out her arms, readying herself for the Trapper’s killing blow.

Evan stared at her, dropping his weapon to the ground with a clatter. She was completely at his mercy, just like the _maggots_ at his father’s business back at home.

But, unlike them, she wasn’t cowering. She sat, arms spread wide, eyes shut, calmly accepting what was going to happen to her. She wasn’t going to let him see any weakness in her.

_Maybe her and I are more alike than I thought._

He gripped Meg’s arms, pulling them down. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Meg blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected the Trapper to say that. Although she couldn’t read his face behind the mask, she could guess what he was thinking.

“So now that you know who I am, it’s harder to kill me, right? Better when you didn’t see me as a person, just a lump of meat to stick on a hook.”

Evan took a step back in shock. It was as if she was looking right through him. He felt vulnerable. Angry that he was feeling vulnerable.

But he felt no desire to take it out on her.

Despite every instinct telling him not to, he voiced his thoughts. “It does… makes it a bit harder to kill you.”

Meg leaned back, feeling bolder. “I’m sure you’ll get over it as soon as the next Trial starts.”

“Perhaps.”

There were a few moments of silence between them. It was almost… comfortable.

Meg was the one to break the silence next, surprising the both of them, especially after Evan’s earlier threat. “Have you…talked to any other survivors like this?”

Evan shook his head no. “You’re the first. I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“Well…what do you think?”

“It’s…not what I expected. It’s… not bad.”

Meg nodded, relaxing a bit now that the threat of immediate death had passed temporarily. “I’ve never spoken to a killer either.”

“Do you... wonder about us at all?

“Mostly we just talk strategy. Like, when we went against the Doctor at first, my friend Claudette had a really hard time with him because she’s used to relying on her stealth, and you can’t do that around Doc. So, we spent a lot of time talking about him for a while.”

“Doc?”

“Uh, do you know him? He’s the guy in the lab coat, he shocks us with electricity… it’s awful…”

“Herman?”

 _“Herman?”_ Meg echoed. “His name is _Herman?”_ Despite her best efforts, she laughed. “I can’t believe one of the most terrifying killers I’ve faced is named Herman.”

“And you just call him the Doctor?”

“Yup. We have names for everyone.”

Even thought about this. He hadn’t considered that the Survivors would be talking about them between trials, coming up with names for them. The killers rarely talked about the survivors, and had definitely never named them. “What do you call me?” he asked, curious.

“The Trapper.”

“Oh. That’s…simple.”

“Well… I came up with it. And I’m not the most…creative person.”

The thought of having a name that all the survivors knew him by, and that Meg herself came up with it… it was enough to make him smile under the mask.

“I like it,” he assured her.

“Well,” she replied, “I’m glad, although I definitely didn’t make it with your approval in mind.”

Another moment of silence.

“What do you call the others?”

“Uh… well, the invisible one is the Wraith. My friend Claudette came up with that one. And the two chainsaw guys… the one with the skin mask we call the Cannibal. And the other one the Hillbilly. Or just Billy.”

Meg continued. “The guy in the white mask…he’s called The Shape. One of the newer girls Laurie called him that when she arrived. The tall woman with the hatchets is the Huntress, and the other killer who lays traps—that’s the Hag. Oh, and the short lady who teleports—she’s the Nurse. Claudette recognized the outfit after a while.”

“What about the pig-headed woman? The new one?”

“We call her the Pig.”

“Oh.” Evan chuckled, a little. It was the first time in a while he had laughed. “And… Freddy? I mean, the one with the burned face?”

“Oh, we call him the Nightmare. He comes to us in our dreams. One of the guys…Quentin…he has in the worst. That’s why it looks like he hasn’t slept in forever. I didn’t know his name was Freddy. That’s also not super menacing…”

Evan laughed, a little louder. He hadn’t realized how different the worlds of the killers and survivors were—no, it’s just that he hadn’t thought about it before.

“Do you have a name?”

Evan didn’t answer.

“Come on, you know mine.”

He sighed. “It’s Evan. Evan MacMillan.”

“Oh. Evan’s not even an awful name.”

“Neither is Meg.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

“I think it suits you.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Yes. It’s…short and powerful. Like you.” The words slipped out before he could stop himself.

“Powerful? Me?” Meg laughed. _I made her laugh!_ Evan thought triumphantly. 

“Yes. You. The way you run…and carry yourself… and… I don’t know…” He shrugged. “You’re one of the bravest survivors I’ve seen in there...”

Meg was quiet.

“And…I really do like your twenty-first century outfit,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.

Meg’s head snapped up, and she began to laugh.

 _He really is no different than any other man, is he?_ she thought, amused.

“Why are you still thinking about my outfit, huh?”

Now that Meg knew that Evan wouldn’t hurt her, at least for now, she decided it would be fun to test the waters a bit, see if she could make him squirm.

_What’s the harm?_

“I mean, it makes sense,” she continued with a smirk. “You spend so much time running after me… I guess you _have_ had a good long time to stare at my _outfit.”_

Evan’s eyes widened under the mask. “Uh…what are you talking about?”

“I mean, it does show a lot of _detail…”_ Meg continued. “Maybe that’s why you can’t ever catch me…you’re just too _distracted…”_

Evan gulped. She was onto something here… her tight little pants did give him quite a view of her…rear… but he’d only been _distracted_ by it once, when he was chasing her up the stairs at Haddonfield, and it was literally right above his head… he probably could have smacked her with his weapon that time, but instead he had walked right into a window…

Meg took his stunned silence as a positive thing. “Maybe I was wrong about my running skill this entire time! Maybe it was my ass that won me _all those Trials…”_

Meg was enjoying this way more than she thought she would have. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone since she’d arrived in the Entity’s Realm—there weren’t any survivors that interested her, and it would probably be too weird anyways—but here, now… why not have some fun? It’s not like she would ever talk to Evan again. They could have some fun, something that was a rarity here in the fog, and then they could go right back to being strangers after tonight.

Evan, on the other hand, was stunned. He could hardly think, all of his concentration was focused on _not_ getting a hard-on in front of Meg…

Unfortunately for him, she hopped unsteadily off the cot, balancing on one leg as she turned around, bending suggestively over the cot.

“Here. Now that we’re not in a Trial, you can have a good look.”

 _Take deep breaths, Evan,_ he told himself.

Slowly, Meg began pulling her leggings down.

“Seems like I forgot to wear underwear today, too.”

Evan was speechless.

Meg hopped on her good foot again, turning around to take another look at him. “What, poor, old-fashioned Evan can’t take it?”

She glanced down in an exaggerated fashion. “Ah. Seems like you can.”

That was enough for Evan, and he sprung forward with a growl, lifting Meg up and placing her back on the cot as gently as he could manage before running his hands down her waist slowly, letting them rest on her hips, then her inner thighs.

This was the first time he’d touched her without intent to harm her or put her on a hook, and he let himself take in all the details.

Her skin was surprisingly soft, especially compared to his, covered with burns and scars. She smelled of sweat and blood, but also of wind and the forest. Her wounds from the past Trial were gone as if she had never sustained them, but she did have some old scars of her own on her legs, probably acquired back at home.

He let one hand drop lower, rubbing the sweet spot between her legs with one massive finger. She moaned softly, and he could feel how wet she was already.

“Someone knows what he’s doing,” she breathed.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked awkwardly. He felt awkward; he didn’t know exactly the right words to say to get her off, but she didn’t seem to mind. She nodded her head, spreading her legs a bit wider.

Cautiously, not wanting to hurt her, he prodded her entrance with one finger gently.

“Yes,” she moaned breathlessly, and he shoved his finger all the way inside, beginning to pump in and out gently. “Harder,” she whispered, and he happily obliged.

At this point, Evan was harder than he’d been in a long time. He tried to ignore it and focus on Meg, but he was desperate for some relief.

Meg seemed to sense this, hopping unsteadily off the cot and rubbing his cock through his overalls.

“I was right, hm? The great Trapper can’t catch me because he’s too focused on what he’d rather be doing to me after the Trial?”

“That’s not—” Evan began, but stopped in his tracks as she gave him a squeeze. “Jesus, Meg.”

“Yeah. Running’s not the only thing I’m good at,” she whispered.

Evan moved to pull off his overalls, grabbing the hook that dug into his skin, holding his overalls up, and gave it a yank, growling in pain as it came out. The sound caused Meg to glance up in concern. “You okay?” she asked, craning her head upwards. Due to his massive height, she only came up to his chest, so she couldn’t exactly see what was going on, but she could tell he was in pain.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, sliding the other strap down, which, thankfully, wasn’t attached to him in any peculiar way.

“No, no,” she said, glancing over his arm— _really_ looking at it for the first time with concern.

During the Trials, she’d never really taken the time to take a good look at the Trapper—no reason to, really, but now, she noticed the thick hooks and twisted metal embedded into his rough skin, all the way down his arm. “What _happened_ to you? Did you… do this to yourself?”

“No.” He shook his head. “When I was first taken by the Entity, I was… less than cooperative. It had to break me before I would do its bidding.”

“So, the Entity did that to you?”

“Yes.”

Evan glanced down at Meg’s pale face. She looked horrified, much more horrified than he’d expected. In fact, she looked absolutely devastated as she unsteadily balanced on her good foot and ran a gentle hand down his arm. “Does it hurt?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “I’ve learned to push it to the back of my mind.”

“Evan…” Meg whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Evan looked away. This was the first time someone had ever spoken to him so softly. Living under his father’s iron fist, then the Entity’s—he’d spent his whole life—and more—being told he’d deserved this. No one had ever been so upset for him.

The other killers sympathized, of course. But they all had their own painful punishments to worry about—although some of them, such as Michael, Freddy, and Amanda, had come willingly and avoided all extra negative modifications.

Now, here Meg was—a _survivor,_ who he and his fellow killers had tortured, brutally, in every single way possible—was here, caressing his arm gently, whispering over and over, “I’m so sorry, Evan. You didn’t deserve this.”

 _Yes, I did, he_ told himself angrily. He was here to be punished for what he had done—and he had been picked for his ability to kill. He was supposed to _enjoy_ this.

Meg, on the other hand, had just been, according to her, a normal girl, living her life, before she was whisked away to an eternal cycle of torture and death, for no reason at all…

“You’re the one who didn’t deserve this,” Evan told her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You didn’t do anything to deserve to be here.”

Meg shrugged, staring at her feet. “Life’s not fair sometimes, is it?”

“No…it’s not.”

“Besides. I try to make the best of my situation. Find the happy moments where I can. No point in being miserable all the time, is there?”

Evan’s heart broke for the girl.

“The other survivors need someone to help boost the morale, you know?”

“And that’s you?”

Meg nodded. “I’m one of the most experienced. Along with my friends Claudette, Dwight, and Jake. Claudette’s a sweetheart, but she’s too shy to be in a leadership position like that. Dwight panics too easily. And Jake doesn’t really give a shit about anyone else besides Claudette, and sometimes Dwight and I. So… that leaves me.”

“Why do you do it?” Evan asked.

“Well, if everyone was just miserable all of the time, then we wouldn’t try as hard in the Trials. Then we wouldn’t produce enough fear and despair when we were sacrificed, and then what would the Entity do to us? Dispose of us?” Meg shrugged. “Claudette has a theory that there were others here before us. That’s why we keep finding stuff in the forest we can use. Like spare clothes, and caches of items, and so on.”

“I see.”

“And… I really care about the other people at the fire. I don’t want them to lose hope. Even if we’re here forever and ever.”

She glanced up at him suddenly. “You know Claudette and Jake? The girl with the dreads and glasses, and the Asian guy who doesn’t make a sound when you hit him?”

Evan nodded.

“They’re in love.” She smiled, happy for her two friends. “And it makes it so much easier for them to have something to wake up to, and the Entity allows it because now they have more fear—not just for themselves, but for each other. So, it works out for everyone.”

She gave a weak smile, and Evan could tell she was putting on a positive front. “Even in here, love conquers all, huh?”

“Except for the fact that the two of them will never be happy together.”

“…they’re happy enough,” she muttered. “That’s all we have here.”

“And, are you in love?” Evan asked, afraid to hear the answer for some reason.

Meg shook her head no. “I kinda thought that David guy was cute, when he first arrived. But then it turned out he’s also kind of an ass. And then it turned out he’s not even into girls!” She laughed, remembering the day they’d figured that out, when he and Dwight had emerged from the woods together, hair tousled, clothes rumpled. David had tried to play it off, but the look on Dwight’s face had given it all away.

“I suppose that’s why you’re…” Evan trailed off, gesturing to Meg’s legs.

“Oh!” Meg snapped to attention, yanking her pants up quickly. “Um… yeah… I guess I kind of killed the mood… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking…”

Meg buried her face in her hands, embarrassed. Evan thought it was cute, seeing her so flustered.

“Hey.” He reached out, grabbing her hands gently and pulling them away from her face. “No one said the mood was killed.”

“No, no, you brought me here to answer questions, not to… act like a _slut_ in your home…”

“Meg,” he growled, swiftly pulling his overalls down to his feet. Her eyes widened at the sight of his massive erection. “My only question for you is, do you think you can handle _all of this?”_

“Jesus,” Meg whispered, lowering herself painfully to her knees. “Did the Entity gift you with _that_ as well?”

“I’ve always had a big—” Evan was cut off as her soft pink lips surrounded his tip. “ _Fuck,_ Meg.”

Meg popped her head up triumphantly. “Look at that! I made Mr. Proper say a _swear word!”_

Evan cut her off by shoving his cock back into her mouth, effectively shutting her up as she brought her mouth deeper and deeper on his length.

“You stop answering me back, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Kill me?” Meg smirked, popping her head up again. “Then who would be here to suck you off, huh?”

 _God, she loves to talk back,_ Evan thought to himself. He decided it really shouldn’t have surprised him.

“I won’t kill you,” he growled, bending down to pick her up and toss her back onto the cot. “But I will do this.”

In a single motion, he had pulled her leggings back down and positioned his cock right at her entrance. He began rubbing her clit, teasing her, relishing in her moans.

“You want me to put it in?” he asked.

“Yes… please…”

“I don’t know, Meg… you’ve been talking back to me an awful lot… I’m not sure you deserve it…”

“Fuck, Evan, just put it in!” Meg growled in frustration.

“Now, now, Meg, what did I say about ladies cursing?” Evan replied calmly, still circling her clit slowly with one finger.

“I’m sorry, Evan, I’m really sorry! Just—please—”

“What did you say?”

“I said _please!”_ she cried, and, not able to take it anymore, he pushed himself inside her.

She screamed as he began to thrust, but it was a different scream—it was a scream of pleasure, not pain.

He decided that this kind of screaming from Meg was _infinitely_ better than any screaming she’d done in the Trials.

He still had her completely at his mercy… just like when she was dangling from a rusty, bloody hook in the basement…or caught in one of his traps… but this time, her face was contorted with ecstasy, not agony or fear.

After a few minutes, Evan felt that white hot feeling between his legs. “Meg… he moaned. I’m going to …”

“Yes,” she breathed back. “Cum for me, Evan.”

With a roar, he came, deep inside her, groaning uncontrollably. For a few seconds, he forgot everything about the Trials, the Entity, that he was a killer and she was a survivor… focusing only on the pleasure, Meg’s moans as her orgasm came not long after his, that trance-like high…

Meg was breathing hard, looking up at him, a smirk on her face. “Not bad,” she said.

 _She always has to have the last word,_ he thought, amused, gently pulling out of her.

She was gasping for air, and he noticed there were tears running down her face, cutting tracks on the dirt that was smeared on her cheeks.

“You okay?”

“Yeah… just my ankle…” she winced.

Evan glanced down, feeling sick as he noticed just how awful it looked—it had swollen up to two times the size of the other, and while it wasn’t bleeding anymore, the sharp piece of bone sticking out told him that she was going to need way more than some gauze to patch that one up.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, staring into his eye holes, as if she were trying to reassure him. “Once you kill me, I’ll be back at the fire, good as new.”

“I won’t kill you. You can leave whenever you want,” Evan said, pulling his overalls back up.

“No, I can’t. My ankle is broken from the trap! I can’t make it all the way back like this.”

“What? No! It’s fine. I’ll carry you!” Evan quickly collected the traps he had placed around the shack. “I’ll—I’ll take you almost all the way, and then you can crawl back, and say that you ran too far and stepped in a trap, and I almost got you, but you made it back…”

“Please. Just kill me. I don’t stand a chance in a Trial with a broken ankle. I don’t have any good medkits back in my stash. I can’t _not run!_ The only option is to kill me. The Entity will punish me, yes, but afterwards I’ll wake up good as new.”

“Meg…I can’t…”

“Evan.” Her eyes met his. “Please.”

She was begging him again. But it was different—it was defeated, helpless. It was still passionate, but terrified at the same time. Terrified of losing her mobility, her ability to run, the only thing she had here in this awful world… and he’d done it to her…

He sighed. “Fine. Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.”

He walked quickly to the storehouse, where he kept his workstations and spare weapons, masks, and traps, as well as a small desk where he sometimes sketched, when he could bring himself to do so. He grabbed his machete, which he had just sharpened last week. As he walked back towards the shack, her bright blue eyes burned into his mind. This passionate, smart-mouthed survivor…how she begged him to _kill_ her. How she’d rather take a punishment from the Entity than… not run. Whether it was passion, or determination, fear, or a combination of all three that caused her to ask this… it broke his heart.

He entered the shack again. Meg eyed the weapon curiously.

“My machete. Thought it’d be… faster… than the cleaver I normally use.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She stretched out on the cot, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Evan raised the machete over her chest, hand shaking. He had never hesitated before making a kill.

“Meg. Wait.”

“Huh?” She opened her eyes, looking at him curiously.

“Do you think… you’d come back and visit me again?”

“Visit you again? What, for another fuck?” She laughed. Evan’s face turned red under the mask, and, again, he was thankful she couldn’t see it.

“Well… um… that would be nice, of course, but… really, I’d just like to talk to you more…” he stammered.

“Evan, I don’t know if that’s a great idea… what about the Trials?”

“I don’t think it should be any different in the Trials,” he said, hanging his head. “After all, that is what we’re here for. But maybe…sometimes…after…you could come visit me? And we could talk some more? You said it yourself, we’re all just here for an eternity…and I actually really enjoy spending time with you…”

“Of course, you do,” she teased.

Evan buried his face in his hands. _This girl will be the death of me._

“I won’t kill you. You can always leave whenever you want,” he added. “And no more traps. I promise.”

“Why do you even want me back here? Besides the obvious, of course,” she added.

“It just…gets…lonely after a while. It would be nice to have some company.”

“So, hang out with another killer.”

“But I want to learn more about your world.”

“You mean, life as a survivor?”

 _No, life as Meg,_ Evan wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He nodded his head.

Meg sighed. _Evan is very persistent,_ she thought. She glanced up, past his eye-holes, into his all-black eyes. She’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t enjoy talking to Evan too. Not to mention their _other_ activities… and he was right, they were here for an eternity… why not have some fun, get to know him? _He really doesn’t seem that bad outside of the Trials,_ she thought.

“Well… I suppose it couldn’t hurt…” she muttered, finally. “But if you kill me again after tonight, that’s it! I won’t be back.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

Another beat of silence.

“Now…I suppose I should be heading back. I’ve been gone for a while,” she said, stretching out on the cot and squeezing her eyes shut again, spreading her arms wide, grasping the edges, bracing herself. “Go ahead. Kill me. Make it quick.”

Evan took a breath, raising his machete. He placed it gently along her throat, hoping that going for the large vein in her neck would cause her to bleed out faster, granting a quicker death. Meg flinched as she felt the cold metal touch her skin, trying not to tremble. She’d faced death many, many times before. But laying here, helpless, waiting for it… it was a different kind of agony. She’d never gone without a fight before. The feeling was awful.

Quickly, using his raw strength, Evan brought the machete down into her throat, slashing it swiftly and cleanly. She began to scream but was quickly cut off, gurgling weakly as blood flowed from the gash, staining the white cot. It wasn’t an instantaneous as he’d hoped—her hands raised involuntarily to clutch at the wound as her eyes opened, full of tears, weakly focusing on Evan’s face as the life drained out of them.

Finally, the Entity’s tentacles descended, plucking her up and pulling her into the sky.

And she was gone.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan learns more about the survivor life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a little break from this story to write my Trappy Valentine's Day one, but now I'm back to it :) I appreciate all of the positive comments, they definitely motivate me to keep going.

Meg awoke with a start back at the campfire.

_What happened?_

She blinked, rubbing her eyes, staring up at the blurry orbs in the night sky, twinkling down at her.

Her neck and throat were killing her, and so was her ankle… and her hips and back, too, she realized.

“Evan,” she gasped, reaching a hand out, remembering suddenly.

Dwight’s blurry face appeared over hers, concerned. “What happened? Claudette said you went for a run. Did someone kill you out there? …Who’s Evan?”

Meg rubbed her face. “Evan? I—I don’t know…”

“You were just saying the name…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meg lied, embarrassed.

“Okay…” Dwight didn’t push the topic. “What happened to you, though?”

“I took a run…went a little too far… got killed.”

“You know the Entity will punish you for that!”

“I know. I’ll be more careful next time. Where’s Claudette?”

“Off with Jake somewhere.”

“Of course.”

“Who killed you?” Dwight asked.

“Oh…uh…” For some reason, Meg didn’t want to say the Trapper. She didn’t have any reason not to. But she was worried Dwight would put Evan’s name to face, and, even if he didn’t, saying she even saw him felt wrong to her, even if Dwight thought it was just a quick kill in the forest.

Fortunately, she was spared from answering when a sharp black tentacle shot out of the ground, piercing her chest and pulling her down, once again, to begin whatever regime of torture it had planned for her.

_Nothing goes unpunished in the Fog._

…

“None of you have seen her in your Trials?”

“Who?”

“M—the runner. The redhead with the braids.”

“Nope. Thankfully.” Philip laughed. It was a well-known fact that he hated having to chase her down.

“What about you, Sally? Herman? Bubba? _None_ of you have seen her? She’s been in practically every Trial I’ve done!”

Sally shrugged. “Why do you care?”

_Oops._ He had sounded a bit too interested there. But it had been several days, and no sign of Meg anywhere, in or out of the Trials.

“I, uh, ran into her in the forest. She was taking a run and went too far, I guess. I killed her.”

“Nice job,” Sally laughed. “Now she’s being punished by the Entity.”

“Thank you, Evan!” Crowed Philip, and the other killers joined in enthusiastically.

He felt sick.

“Punished, like when we first arrived? Or when we don’t sacrifice enough survivors during a Trial?”

“The Entity keeps the survivors it wants to punish until their spirits are very nearly broken,” Herman explained from across Evan. _The Doctor,_ he remembered.

“I used to do the same thing with my experiments.” Herman laughed before continuing. “Push them almost to the breaking point, _then_ lay off. So that they get the message and don’t do—whatever it is they’re being punished for again—but aren’t rendered useless for future testing. Genius, really.”

He stopped again to laugh.

“Also,” he added, “Our punishments for not sacrificing enough during the Trials are _way_ shorter. Because the point of those is just to make us angry, more determined, not to break us or teach us a lesson. Make us want to go on killing. We can’t do that if we’re recovering from a horrific punishment.”

“How do you know all this?” Evan asked, staring down at his hands. Feeling guilty that Meg was being subjected to this because of him. _She’s just a survivor. She’s just a survivor. She’s just a survivor…_

“Well, that’s what I did for my job before the…incident at Lery’s Memorial,” Herman explained with an electrifying cackle. “Experiments. Testing. Torture. Seeing just how far the human mind could go before breaking.” Another laugh from him. “I loved it.”

Evan shuddered. Even though he was a bit taller, and definitely stronger, than Herman, the sheer _delight_ he took in inflicting suffering on others chilled him to the bone. _I wonder if this is how the survivors see all of us._

He glanced up, realizing everyone else was still watching him. “Uh…I’m glad to hear that. I just don’t want to face her during my next trial. Cause, you know, she runs fast,” he fibbed uneasily.

Everyone laughed, and carried on with their conversation, although Sally’s head remained turned toward Evan for another beat. _Is she watching me?_ He never knew. Evan got up. “I’m going to go work on my traps.”

Lisa glanced up, waving a goodbye with her huge claw as Evan turned away. As soon as he was out of sight, he began heading through the forest, determined to find the Survivor’s campfire. He didn’t know what compelled him to keep walking. He knew it was a bad idea, but…he just wanted to see for himself where the girl lived. Maybe she was fine. Maybe she was just…taking some time off from the Trials, if that was possible. Maybe she had just arrived back recently…

After an eternity of stumbling through the forest, walking in circles, and accidentally entering other killer’s realms, all the while marveling how she’d managed to run all the way to the Estate in the first place, he noticed an unfamiliar light in the distance. He crept up as quietly as possible, trying to stay hidden. Fortunately, the survivors were all very loud and rowdy, so he didn’t have to get very close to listen in.

He counted twelve of them, sitting around the fire, telling stories of the night’s Trials.

The nervous-looking man with the glasses was talking. “And right when I was about to finish the last gen, that guy with the chainsaw just came out of nowhere!” He shuddered. “It still freaks me out when I can’t hear him coming. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Aw, stop bein such a baby. It was his first hook,” teased a muscular, gruff man who was sitting next to him. Evan recognized him; he often threw himself in harm’s way for his teammates. “And I finished the gen, so it was all good.”

“All good except for my chest!”

“You’re fine now, ain’t ya, Dwight?”

_Dwight. He was the nervous one that Meg mentioned…_

“Physically…”

Everyone laughed, then someone else launched into a new story.

Evan hunkered down and listened, listening to story after story, and learning name after name. _Dwight. David. Nea. Claudette._ He remembered Meg mentioning some of the names, and some of them were new to him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know so much about them. Their names. Their voices. Their personalities. It would make _everyone_ that much harder to kill, not just Meg.

Finally, the Survivors started quieting down, bidding each other goodnight. He was shocked to see most of them laying down around the fire. _Do they not get anywhere to sleep? Does Meg sleep out here too? Does she get cold in that little top she wears?_

He tried not to focus on the mental image of Meg, curled up, shivering in her tight, twenty-first century top, that apparently all the ladies wore where she was from… _not that anyone could wear it as well as Meg…_

Claudette, along with another survivor— _Jake, probably,_ he remembered, slipped off into the forest together. The one with the scowl and the short hair— _Nea—_ walked several feet away from the fire before hoisting herself up into a sturdy tree. David and Dwight laid down dangerously close to the campfire, the smaller one resting his head on the larger one’s chest.

Most of the others were sprawled out in various positions, seemingly hesitant to stray too far from the warm glow of the fire. Those who were a bit farther away began fashioning makeshift beds from leaves and twigs. A boy wearing a blue jacket with messy brown hair remained on the log, swaying side to side, seemingly trying his best not to fall asleep.

Evan wondered if Meg slept soundly during the cold nights, if she ever had nightmares, if she preferred sleeping right next to the fire, or further away.

He felt proud when he remembered how far she had run that night before collapsing from exhaustion under a tree on the edges of the Estate. _My survivor is the bravest,_ he told himself. _Wait. My survivor?_

He got up, irritated. _She’s not my survivor. She’s just another prey…another maggot to be struck down, just like at home,_ he told himself desperately. _And yet… here you are, spying on the survivor campfire… hoping to catch a glimpse of her…what’s wrong with you, Evan?_

…

A few evenings later, Evan once again crouched in the bushes outside their little campfire. After a few grueling days, he knew he wasn’t going to be in any of the Trials that night, so he’d taken the opportunity to take a walk in the forest. And, _just by coincidence,_ since he’d found himself so close to the Survivor’s campfire, he decided to check in on them again. _Just because he was curious. Not because he was looking for…anyone._

The survivors were gathered anxiously, items and offerings in hands. Evan desperately scanned their faces for Meg, but there was no sign of the runner anywhere.

“Ya think Meg’ll be back tonight?” asked the survivor named David, as if reading Evan’s mind.

“Who fucking knows,” called a tall, older man wearing sunglasses.

“Hey Ace, whatcha bringin’ in tonight?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, you better hurry up!”

“But…there’s so much to choose from!”

“Yeah, cause you spend every fucking Trial looting chests. Tell me, how big is your stash at this point?”

“Can’t even keep track of what I have anymore.”

Suddenly, the small survivor—Claudette _,_ he remembered, jumped up. “It’s me!”

“And me!” called Ace. “Who else?”

Evan was, once again, shocked. Survivors didn’t know who was going in each Trial? They found out right before? They just had to sit around and wait? The Killers knew far, far ahead of time who would be going in. The Entity would whisper to them in their sleep each night, telling them when to expect to go in, punishing those who didn’t perform well enough that day, and rewarding the killers who’d done exceptionally well, perhaps making them a bit stronger, teaching them something new…

Evan never remembered his meetings with the Entity very clearly, but he always woke up knowing exactly _when_ and _if_ he’d be going in that night.

Imagining Meg jumping up, ready to be thrown into a Trial at a moment’s notice… it made Evan _angry._ He wanted to hit something, to yell. But he couldn’t. All he could do was watch.

A dense fog was starting to surround the four chosen survivors, not unlike the one that surrounded the killer back at their bonfire, as they hurriedly chucked their offerings into the fire.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Claudette hollered, pointing at the ground next to the fire.

There was a flash of light, and another figure, clouded in fog, was starting to materialize, whimpering in pain.

Evan’s stomach lurched. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Meg was back.

The remaining survivors gathered around her, yelling at each other. David scooped her up in his arms, carrying her towards one of the beds of leaves that surrounded the fire.

Watching someone else carry Meg in their arms also made Evan angry, although he wasn’t sure why. _That David has no right to be touching her like that._ He clenched his fists, willing himself not to march into the middle of the group of survivors, knock them aside, and pick Meg up himself and take her back to the Estate.

_She’d be so much more comfortable on my cot than on that awful bed of leaves. I’d start a fire for her, and cover her with some of my spare clothes to keep her warm. I’d trap the entire shack to keep all those other survivors out, but I’d warn her this time, of course… and I’d go hunting in the forest and get her some food and water, and she’d recover much, much faster than she will here…_

Except, he doubted the Entity would take kindly to him barging into the survivor’s space like that, and Meg probably wouldn’t either.

Although she looked pretty out of it, struggling to even lift her head. Seeing how frail and weak she was, a stark contrast to how she usually carried herself… seeing what the Entity had done to her… his eyes filled with tears. He angrily reached up to wipe them away before remembering the mask. Evan couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, the sensation felt foreign and unnatural to him.

_Stop it, Evan. You’re being weak._

_Again._

If one of his workers back at home had done that, they would have been killed on the spot—or at least severely beaten, if they were lucky…

One of the survivors shouted over the crowd, “Hey! Nea’s back.”

Evan watched Nea materialize by the campfire. She rolled her eyes, looking less than thrilled at Meg’s return as she hoisted herself back up into her tree. Evan scooted a bit further into his bush.

The survivors quieted down, and Evan couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying. He wanted to get a little closer, but he also wanted to avoid being discovered.

The other three survivors returned shortly, one of them flashing a key triumphantly. Evan rolled his eyes, he _hated_ when survivors brought those keys into Trials, often stopping to taunt him before slipping into the hatch that the Entity always provided for whatever reason. _For something that wants us to make sacrifices, it sure doesn’t make it easy,_ he thought. _Maybe it feeds off the killer’s rage, too. That would make sense._ Evan had always considered himself and the other killers extensions of the Entity, working directly for it… but maybe, they were just pawns just like the survivors were. _But we get treated better,_ he recalled, looking over the pitiful campfire that the group of survivors seemed to call home. _They_ weren’t provided with their own personal realms to rest and recharge between Trials. This was all they had.

_Of course,_ he reasoned, _it must be easier to find survivors than killers, if it’s true that these are just innocents who didn’t do anything to end up here… maybe the Entity plans to keep us around longer._

He flushed with anger at the thought of the Entity treating Meg as some sort of disposable piece of prey.

Not that he had treated her any differently, until recently.

A panicked scream startled Evan from his musings. “Guys!” Cried Claudette, who was kneeling next to Meg’s slumped figure. “Meg’s going in and she doesn’t remember anything!”

Evan glanced up, barely containing a gasp of horror as he noticed the Entity’s thick black fog slowly swirling around Meg’s body.

_She’s in no shape for a Trial,_ Evan thought furiously. _She can’t even stand up! And…Claudette said she doesn’t remember anything?_

The realization hit him with a pang of horror. _That means she won’t remember me!_

Evan slumped over, devastated. _Will she get her memories back? Or does the Entity want a clean slate? And if it does… that means I may never see her again…_

Evan wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream, or to cry, or both. The mix of agony and despair he was feeling was something brand new, something he’d never felt before. Not when his father was beating him in the backyard. Not when he’d killed his first worker. Not even after the tragedy at the Estate.

No, this was much, much worse.

As the fog completely blanketed Meg’s slender body, she turned her head ever-so-slightly, her round blue eyes meeting Evan’s. In his horror, he had neglected to realize that he had shifted forward a bit, his white mask peeking out of the bush, in plain sight of Meg and the others.

She opened her mouth, as if to scream, reaching out a shaky hand, swirled in fog.

Evan retreated quickly.

The fog cleared, and she was gone.

Claudette, now alone, burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Jake came and knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her, whispering tenderly in her ear.

Evan slunk back into the shadows of the forest, feeling as if his heart had been ripped out and consumed by the Entity itself.


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Meg during that punishment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the most graphic chapter I've written so far, both sexually and violently (and both, combined). So...make sure you're not eating while you read this, lol

No space, no time. Just _pain._

She didn’t speak, didn’t scream. No point, and her voice had given out already anyway.

She had no idea how long she’d been there…maybe that’s all that ever was.

She gave in, feeling her body be ripped apart, molecule by molecule, once again to be put back together again for a brief moment of respite before the horror started again.

Each killer had come to her, leering at her before pulling out their various weapons, showing them off before slowly bring them down into the various parts of her body, cutting slowly, making sure to cause her the most agony they possibly could.

One old lady…she couldn’t remember exactly who she was…stabbed her claw deep into Meg’s stomach, twisting back and forth at an agonizingly slow pace before bringing her hand out, licking the blood off before bringing it back down for another bout of pain. A man with his face forced into a smile, metal prongs holding his eyes open, rubbed his hands together, charging them with electricity, shocking various parts of her body, poking her eyes, beating her with an awful spiked bat… and this masked figure, with a jagged grin leering at her…she knew she’d seen him before. He chopped at her limbs roughly with a cleaver, swiping away the blood carelessly before raising the weapon again, no sign of tiring.

No matter what these…monsters…did, she never passed out. Never died. Never bled out.

She didn’t know if they were real or if she was imaging them… she could hardly bring herself to care…

Swirling colors appeared in front of her eyes occasionally, morphing into shapes and images and sensations.

A woman was hugging her, weakly. She felt so familiar, so _comforting,_ but so…so…painful as well. It was like someone was carving a deep gash in her chest, ripping her heart out, squeezing it in their fists. She wanted to cry. She had no tears left.

The woman released Meg, smiling gently, holding a hand out to her, opening it slowly. _Her iPod._ Meg reached out, weakly to take it, when the woman turned her hand over, letting the pod fall down, down, into the deep black abyss under them, never to hit ground…

Suddenly a tentacle pierced the woman’s chest. She screamed, coughing blood in Meg’s face as more and more tentacles hooked into the woman, ripping into her chest, tearing her in two before dissolving her in a geyser of blood which splashed onto Meg. Every breath she took was filled with the metallic smell of the woman’s blood, and drops of it ran into her mouth. She weakly tried to swipe it away, but her arms felt like lead, she couldn’t raise them…

Meg was in the street, after school, crying in pain. A masked figure stood over her ankle, stomping on it again and again…the bone must be ground to dust at this point… the figure knelt down in front of her, wiping her face roughly. _“You’ll never run again,”_ the voice whispered, before the figure whirled around, darting down the street, just like Meg used to do…

Now she was running through the forest, lungs burning, trying to get away from the awful thick mist that was surrounding her, making her feel dizzy and sleepy… she knew if she gave in, she would never wake up… the fog surrounded her completely and she felt her legs give out from under her.

Now she was on a large cot, staring up at the paper-white face of a masked man, his jagged grin leering at her, his black eyes piercing through her soul. He looked so, so familiar, and comforting, for some reason… and she wanted to crawl into his arms, bury her face in his chest, and wait for death to come…

The man wielded a machete, pressing it firmly to her neck.

_The Entity must be…_ she couldn’t even bring herself to finish the thought. Her mind was hazy. She could hardly remember what the Entity even was. This was her reality.

Every nerve in her body was on fire. She didn’t flinch, she couldn’t move anyway. She was hardly breathing anymore.

_I don’t care,_ she thought weakly. _I don’t care. Let it happen…_

But the man wasn’t interested in hurting her, not yet… he pushed her legs apart roughly, yanking her leggings down and kneeling, the black, empty eyes beyond the mask seemingly gazing into her soul.

Meg gasped and squirmed, but she had no desire to get away…

_Is this my reward for going through all of that?_

Every inch of her body ached, but she closed her eyes and relaxed as the man caressed her inner thighs, trailing a rough finger to her entrance, probing it gently before slipping it inside.

He was surprisingly gentle for such a massive man.

He pushed his mask up, dipping his head lower. Meg tried to see the man’s face, but it was buried between her legs. She jumped as he nibbled her clit suddenly and tenderly. Meg would have screamed if she had any voice left. Not out of pain, though…

He began to swirl his tongue sensually around her swollen bud. Meg closed her eyes, her moans echoing all through the strange space.

It was primal, it was wonderful, and Meg’s weakened body could barely handle it. She felt as though her system would overload if he continued, but it was okay, this was an okay way to go… she was ready to give her mind, body, her soul to this man, to this _sensation,_ to the _connection_ she was feeling between the two of them…

Standing up and removing his overalls roughly, he penetrated her in one swift motion. She glanced up at his face, noticing he had the mask back on.

Frustrated, she reached up to pull it off, but he quickly leaned into her, pinning her arms down and beginning to thrust faster and faster. She stared into his deep black eyes, feeling as if their very _beings_ were meshing into one.

She thrust her head back as her orgasm hit her all at once, but that incomparable ecstasy that she had experienced the last time with this man quickly gave way to a sharp, stabbing pain that radiated throughout her body in hot waves. If she had any voice left, she would have screamed in anguish, but all that escaped was a hoarse squeak.

There was a clunk as the man pulled out a machete and slashed her throat, slowly, not deep enough to kill her quickly, just enough to let her feel the pain, so she would know she was dying… he laughed, a slow, husky laugh. Somehow, hearing that laugh was more painful than the open wound on her neck, or the agony between her legs…

With every heartbeat, blood spurted out of the wound and onto the man’s mask. He watched and laughed, licking the blood off his fingers.

He was continuing to thrust, but his cock was starting to sprout hooks of metal and barbed wire, not unlike the ones embedded in his arm. With every thrust, he went deeper and deeper, far deeper than was natural as Meg could feel her insides being ripped apart.

Meg’s mouth was open in a silent scream as a hook pierced through her stomach. The betrayal from the man felt almost worse than the pain.

_Am I going to die now?_

With one final thrust, the man came inside her, groaning loudly and gasping for breath. His hot cum burned her, dissolving anything she may have had left inside her body. Finally, he violently pulled out of her, watching. Meg didn’t dare look down at her ruined figure.

Strength left Meg along with pools of blood. She could feel her mind getting foggy, finally, _finally._ She closed her eyes, anticipating the release of death.

And finally, all was black. All was still.

Except for the burning sensation to one side of her.

And the loud voice that all of a sudden screamed in her ear.

“Meg? MEG?”

The fire. That voice. She’d been here before.

Instinct, not will, forced her eyes open.

She was on the ground, by a fire. Every part of her body hurt like never before. Confused. _Am I dead now?_

“Fuck. Guys! Help me!” Came a voice above her head.

Strong arms lifted her up. She winced, too weak to protest. She squinted up at the blurry, scarred face above her.

“I got ya, it’s okay. Lay down, yeah?” There was a crunch and the smell of leaves and she was gently placed on a damp, crunchy bed. She could feel the presence of others gathering around her.

“Get her some water,” someone called.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, choosing to focus on the closest person’s blurry face. “You doing alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Everything hurts.” She tried to struggle into a sitting position, but a rough hand gently pushed her back down.

“Woah, girl, take it easy!”

“No, no, no.” Meg gave up struggling and focused on trying to remember what had happened. “Where am I?

“She doesn’t remember where she is? MEG!” A panicked voice began to yell, gasping for air. Meg winced, the noise made her head throb.

The man who was tending to her glanced back briefly. “It’s fine, Dwight. It’s normal to be a bit confused after bein’ punished for so long. She’ll be okay. Just sit down, don’t need your neurotic ass here makin’ it worse.”

_Dwight?_ The name sounded familiar.

“Who’s Dwight?” She asked, struggling to sit up again. “Where is he?”

“Just relax.” The same man pushed her back down. He was obviously trying to be comforting, and Meg decided to accept it for the moment.

She relented, glancing at his scarred face. “Who are you?”

“David,” he replied. “Don’t worry, girl. You’re safe now.”

Someone else came sprinting up, holding a glass bottle filled with water. He was an older man, face filled with concern.

“Easy now,” he warned, passing the bottle to Meg.

She shakily pushed herself up on one arm and took a sip, gagging and trying her best to keep it down.

“Hey!” called a blonde girl toward the back of the crowd. “Nea’s back.”

There was a soft groan as someone’s body finished materializing next to the fire. She pushed herself to her feet, glancing over at the survivors grouped around Meg.

“What’s going on?”

“Meg’s back!” David called.

“Oh goody.” She rolled her eyes, climbing up into a tree.

“Don’t worry about her,” the blonde assured Meg. “Probably just shaken up from the last Trial.”

“Yeah.”

She could tell that the girl— _Nea—_ didn’t like her. She half expected her to walk over and pull out a weapon to continue the torture, although she could tell something had changed about the environment.

Within a few minutes, three more survivors materialized, one right after the other. “First Trial’s over,” David said. “I might have to go soon.”

“Trial,” Meg echoed hoarsely. The word sounded familiar.

“What happened?” asked the older man who had brought her the water. He was sitting on Meg’s other side, holding her hand gently.

“Ace found a key.”

“Don’t hear anyone complaining about my looting chests now!”

One of the survivors dropped to her knees and gave Meg, who had finally worked herself to a sitting position, a hug. “I was so worried,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

All Meg could afford was a halfhearted shrug, the phantom pain settling deep in her joints, the dizziness and confusion almost too much for her to handle.

But one thing that prevailed over all else was the pulling, sinking, twisting feeling in his stomach, so strong she almost felt like she was going to be pulled into another dimension.

“My stomach hurts.”

The girl’s dark eyes widened. “Hurts how?”

“Kinda like a pull. Like someone’s pulling me…”

“Fuck.” She glanced back at the fire, where most of the other survivors had retreated. “Guys? Is the next Trial starting already?”

“Yeah!” the blonde called. “I’m going in! So is Tapp!”

“And me,” muttered a tired-looking boy with minimal enthusiasm.

“Is there a fourth?” The girl was panicking, and Meg wasn’t exactly sure why. The people at the fire were looking at each other, silent. “Fuck, I think it’s Meg!”

Sure enough, a strange, thick fog was starting to gather around Meg’s slumped figure. She shivered. “What’s happening?”

“Meg, do you remember the Trials? The generators?”

She blinked, slowly, trying to remember. “Generators… yeah… we… fix them.”

“Fuck. Why would the Entity send you in so soon?”

“Entity?”

“Fuck!” She turned back to the fire. “Guys! Meg’s going in and she doesn’t remember anything!”

The man—David— walked back over. “Don’t worry yourself too much. I’ve been punished once. She’ll probably be alright. It’ll be a damn rough trial for her though. Maybe it’ll help her remember.”

“ _Probably?_ ” The girl glanced back down at Meg, almost completely covered by fog. She reached out, confused. “Meg, hey, remember—”

As the fog surrounded her, she turned her head to the side painfully. A flash of white startled her, and she noticed the white mask with the leering grin peering out at her from a bush.

Her mouth opened in another silent scream as the man who had provided so much ecstasy and agony stared at her, emotionless. The man who had _betrayed_ her… she hated him, but she also felt another, new intense and indescribable feeling… as if she’d left a piece of her soul with him, and he with her.

She lifted a shaky hand, reaching out towards his face, as if to touch him.

In the same instant, the fog completely covered her face and the world around her began to disappear. She didn’t fight it, and her eyes fell shut.

…

She woke up, again, in yet another place that felt vaguely familiar. She shivered, she was in a giant freezer, staring up at several hunks of meat, swaying above her head.

She flinched, rolling out from under them and into a dark hallway. She was confused and panicked, but her survival instinct was still ever present.

And right now, it was telling her to _run._

All thoughts of pain were pushed to the back of her mind as she sprinted, through empty halls, leapt over windows, past broken-down generators, until finally, she found a gate. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she triumphantly grabbed the handle and pulled with all her might. To her dismay, it wouldn’t budge.

She yanked down with all her strength, but still, no luck.

Her arms burned and she released the handle, the panic and agitation growing.

A whooshing sound startled her, and a frail, slender woman appeared in front of her with a groan of pain.

_Finally, someone who can help me,_ Meg thought, even though something about the woman felt very, very wrong. _Run!_ Screamed her gut. _But what good has that done for me so far?_

She gave in to her instincts and began to flee, but was stopped with a saw between the shoulder blades.

The sudden sensation gave her a boost, and she ran even more desperately, trying to escape her assailant.

With another whoosh, the woman was right in front of her face, and she downed her in another hit. And with a raised hand and a blink, Meg found herself slung over the woman’s shoulder, then tossed carelessly onto a grimy meat hook.

Somehow, Meg knew she shouldn’t struggle. She hung limply on the hook, trying her hardest to remember where she was, and why this felt so familiar. 

Frustrated, she stared off into the distance, trying her hardest to conjure up any sort of memory. _I want to go home,_ she thought desperately. _But I don’t even know where home is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, I believe, is when Evan and Meg come face-to-face again. I have to do a bit of editing before I put it up here.  
> Thank you so much for the feedback, your comments make me smile :)


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